Organ trafficking is a global crisis that hides in plain sight. Generating more than $1.7 billion annually, it’s estimated that one in ten organ transplants occurs through illegal means. In Asia, the growing gap between the wealthy and the poor only intensifies the trade’s horrors. These are not just numbers; they are lives torn apart, communities devastated, and trust in institutions eroded. In this chilling reality, Taiwanese filmmaker Chieh Shueh Bin delivers Organ Child, a haunting thriller grounded in grief, vengeance, and moral reckoning.

The film follows Mao, a once-respected youth baseball coach whose life is shattered when his infant daughter is abducted, believed to have fallen victim to the underground organ trade. Framed for a crime he didn’t commit and imprisoned for nearly two decades, Mao emerges into a world that’s moved on without him. Consumed by rage and loss, he launches a desperate search for truth and justice, encountering Qiao, a teenage girl who may carry a devastating link to his past.

“It took so long because my first idea was only about a father who tries to find his lost daughter,” director Chieh Shueh Bin shared after the film’s screening. “During the process of writing the script, the film market changed in Taiwan, and because of those changes, we had to adapt. And in the middle of the development, we also realised we have to make it into a commercial movie. So if it were to become a commercial film, we had to have action, some suspense, and a criminal aspect too. Throughout the years, the film continued to evolve and change until we got the end product.”

Despite the genre shift, Organ Child never loses sight of its emotional and ethical core. From its intensive opening – a brutal torture sequence – it shows that this isn’t just another revenge thriller. “It is a strong and brutal opening,” Chieh explains, “but it demonstrates the determination of this father because he was in prison for so many years, knowing that he wasn’t a criminal; he was a victim. The only reason he could portray his determination and willpower to look for his lost daughter and have his revenge, you needed a strong opening to shock the audience.”

That shock is not gratuitous; it’s purposeful. Throughout the film, Chieh resists sensationalising the horror of the organ trade. Instead, he uses it as a lens through which to examine power, poverty, and the ethical rot of commodifying life itself. “I thought about it this way: many people around the world think, ‘I have got a lot of money and I can buy whatever I want, even organs.’ This kind of phenomenon occurs around the world, and it’s overwhelming,” he says. “So, the protagonist in the story is the victim of that world; he belongs to the lower class and was sacrificed because of that. Yes, it is a very complex subject, but it is a good subject to demonstrate how he was suffering under the system.”

Starring opposite Chang Hsiao-chuan’s anguished Mao is Moon Lee, who plays Qiao, a high school girl caught in a moral whirlwind. Her performance is subtle but striking, especially in the film’s emotionally raw final act. “I worked with the film’s production company. I don’t know why they chose me, but I am so glad I participated in this film,” Lee says humbly. “I also worked with Chang Hsiao-chuan before, so we did manage to have that on-set chemistry.”

For Lee, the role of Qiao was psychologically intense. “It was a complex one. I asked myself a lot of questions during the shooting process, and it was so hard to accept the things that happened to that character. I don’t think that at her age, she would have ever been able to figure out the situation. I decided to go with the flow as well as let things happen.” Her approach pays off; Qiao never feels like a passive character or a plot device. Instead, she evolves on-screen, challenged by truths far beyond her emotional maturity.

The film doesn’t shy away from philosophical questions, particularly around love corrupted by injustice. “Do you think Qiao ultimately understands Mao’s actions, or fears them?” we asked Lee. Her answer was telling: “I feel like it is very complicated, and I think my character does not understand that kind of love. She truly believes in human consciousness. And the situations she is put in are when she is challenged. Her viewpoint completely changes after everything that has happened to her. We don’t have [prepared] paragraphs to talk about it, but I believe in pure love that should always be inclusive.”

In many ways, Organ Child is about that shift – from certainty to moral ambiguity, from revenge to reflection. Its chaptered structure, with titles like Sin and Atonement, adds spiritual weight to the narrative. Chieh Shueh Bin doesn’t promise easy answers. What he offers instead is a bold, emotionally resonant meditation on how far a parent will go, how systems fail the vulnerable, and whether redemption is truly possible in a world this broken.

Written and interviewed by Maggie Gogler

Featured image courtesy of View of the Arts

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